Ghosts: Defined
by Benning
Summary: In this alternate continuity fic, Logan M. "Shadow" Walker is living under the rule of SAMA (The South American Marxist Alliance), and, under the influence of his father, Elias A. "Ghost" Walker, begins the resistance against the SAMA occupation.
1. Prolouge

Israel and the Arab world were finally at peace; at least, the closet a nuclear wasteland can come to peace.

It just went downhill from there. The Great Depression caused the Abyssinian Crisis, the invasion of Manchuria- hell, it caused World War Two, the Holocaust, the Cold War.

Now imagine that a thousand fold, as the oil of the world burnt to cinders and cremating the billion people who died.

Extremism rose like a phoenix from the ashes of the Middle East and dominated Russia and Europe, fascists slicing Europe up among themselves. Africa destabilized itself to the point of it being nothing but one massive fucking warzone.

America? We cut our ties, and as we did under Harding, we crawled back into our shell and let the world die. We were doing alright, all things considered. Colombia became one of our few trading partners, supplying us with that precious blood of Nations, oil.

But all around them were the reds, and when FARC began to fight, we had to stop them. And South America, formed now under a union,

The war was proxy; we couldn't show ourselves. So they came up with an idea; a stealth unit to prowl the jungles and take down whatever forces threatened American domination.

They were called the Ghosts…


	2. Shadow of a Doubt

23rd June 2027 00:12

Austin, Occupied Texas

The moon was the only thing illuminating Logan Walker's path as he made his way through the forest. Logan moved as swiftly as he did quietly, ducking past branches and vaulting himself over logs. The slight rattle of a strap hitting his assault rifle was the only noise he made. He stopped just short of the approaching clearing. A radio tower stretched hundreds of feet up into the air, its lights exposing the soldiers guarding it.

There was a crunch of dried leaves behind him, and Logan turned. His brother, David, stood behind him. Streaks of black and white smeared his pale complexion, some having found its way onto his buzzcut.

Both men nodded at each other, as their third companion, Riddian "Whisper" Poe, revealed himself from the nearby shrubs.

"Where's Phantom?" muttered Whisper.

"Here," said a grizzled voice above them. Thomas Merrick dropped down from the tree and landed with a soft thud among the men. He let off a sly smile as Haunt and Hint hit the ground seconds later.

"Ghost, this is Spectre. Team is in position, ready to proceed," Dave said down his radio.

"Roger that, Spectre. Commence Operation: Camera."

Merrick went prone. "Alright, see three tangos up ahead. Haunt, Spook, we'll take 'em down on three."

Three muffled shots rang out, and the bodies dropped to the ground.

"Base guards are down. Now let's take this bastard."

The six Ghosts ran across the clearing, and reached the base of the tower in seconds. A mesh wire fence surrounded its base, but they heaved themselves over in seconds.

Silently, they went to work. Haunt hid the scattered and lifeless bodies, having to execute one that was still moving. David, Logan, Merrick and Whisper all applied semtex to each of the Tower's supports, as Spook kept watch.

They did it all in less than thirty seconds.

The small, rusted lift was made even more claustrophobic with six heavily armed soldiers inside: "Phantom" Merrick with his bald head and thick bushy beard, the only one lacking face paint; "Spook" Carson, diagonal stripes marking his dark skin; "Haunt" King, his deeply concerned face hidden by his Ghost Balaclava; "Whisper" Poe, his lanky frame lengthened even more by the Ghost uniform; David "Spectre" , expressionless apart from a certain sense of guilt amid his eyes; and finally, Logan "Shadow" Walker.

The lift stopped, and Merrick, Spook and Haunt stepped out. The room was small, maybe the size of a caravan. The tables had every square centimetre covered by radios, monitoring equipment, and machines whose meanings Logan didn't even attempt to fathom. Maps and charts adjourned the walls, and a few family photographs rested near them. A yellow ladder led to the roof and the helicopter.

The six radio operators looked at the open lift, and the six Ghosts looked back.

"Hands in the air!" screamed Merrick, and five of them complied. The sixth, a forty-something Chilean woman, grabbed a knife and backed herself into the corner.

"Bastardo!" she screamed, motioning the knife towards Merrick. He didn't change his vaguely angry expression when he put three rounds into her head. Her lifeless and brainless body slumped backwards, leaving a large stain on the wall.

"You want to end up like her?!" he screamed to the operators. "Get this ready to broadcast! Who can operate this?"

A man with worn and scratched glasses nervously raised his hand, and Merrick grabbed him and shoved a DVD into his palm.

"Get this playing on every TV in Austin or you're a dead man!" he shouted, pointing the barrel of his gun in Glasses' face.

As Merrick had his back turned, as Logan and David were applying zip ties to the remaining operators, as Spook watched out of the window, as Haunt was moving the body of the Chilean woman, as Whisper was going onto the roof to check the helicopter stashed there was in working order, one of the operators, the one with the large scar running down his face, made a break for it.

Logan made a grab for him, but only clipped his leg. Both men tumbled onto the floor, Logan smacking his head on his shoe. Scars kicked Logan in the face, and stretched up. He smashed his clenched fist against the small red button marked in both English and Spanish, "Emergency".

"Hold him," ordered Merrick to Haunt as he pushed Glasses towards him. Merrick strode towards the runaway, and plucked him up by the back of his collar. He didn't even have time to scream before Merrick defenestrated him. Glass showered out of the tower as he began to scream desperately.

"Now what?" asked Haunt. "They'll be here any minute!"

"Calm down!" barked Merrick. "You! You got it working yet?"

"Done!" shouted Glasses, and the words had just escaped his mouth when Merrick pressed his pistol to his head and fired.

On every TV in Austin, the show began.

"Hello," began a masked figure. "I am Ghost. I am an American. And I want America to stay American. Too long have we been under SAMA's shadow. Too long have we allowed this filth to stay on our land. Until SAMA go back to the jungles from which they came, we will stop at nothing to drive them out. The Marxists have taken our homes, our jobs- our way of life. And it's time to take it back. In God is our trust."

Logan looked at the three remaining operators. A young woman with a necklace, a moustachioed man, and a man totally devoid of any hair. Moustache and Baldy were screaming; Necklace just looked on as her lip trembled.

"What about this lot?"

"Kill them."

Baldy began to whimper, but Logan stopped him after a few seconds. His eyes looked sad. So did Logan's. Spook took out Moustache without a word from either.

"Army's on their way up!" shouted Haunt.

"Haunt, you hold them off while we get this bitch on the chopper!" ordered Merrick. "Whisper, how long until we can go?"

"I've been ready for, like, five minutes!"

Logan went up the ladder first, and arrived on the small landing pad with the equally small helicopter. David followed, along with Spook.

"Lift's about ten seconds away!" screamed Haunt. He rested his gun on the table and aimed it at the lift.

Merrick was halfway up the ladder when he screamed, "Come on, man!"

The doors opened at the same time Haunt's fire did.

The first three soldiers were cut down in a hailstorm of bullets, although only one was killed outright. Haunt still kept his finger jammed on the trigger several seconds after it had run empty.

The next four soldiers stepped out of the lift and opened fire. With no regards to accuracy, their bullets smashed through the radio equipment. Haunt hugged the ground, and when they finally stopped shooting, he bolted to the ladder as he released a smoke grenade. Heavy clouds of ash burst out from the device, but through its haze Haunt could still see the ladder.

The soldiers quickly began their second wave of inaccurate shooting.

Merrick took Haunt's bloody hand as he hefted his way up the ladder, gunfire erupting from below them. As his torso emerged, Merrick left him and hopped onto the helicopter.

Just as his leg cleared the hatch, he screamed and contracted.

"I've been hit!" he said, and Merrick moved to grab him when the first SAMA soldier reared his ugly head from the hatch.

"Go! Go!" screamed Merrick, and Whisper complied. Haunt's face changed from pain to despair to a grim form of happiness.

As the first SAMA troop joined him on the roof, he whipped the det charge from his pocket and pressed it.

The supports buckled outwards, and there was a single beat of silence as SAMA and Louis "Haunt" King stared at each other. It seemed to last a life time; and, in a way, it did.

Haunt would have died happy if he looked angry. But he didn't.

He looked sad. He looked like he was leaving a fatherless son and a husbandless wife somewhere in the world. He looked like he didn't expect to go out today and die.

Haunt's final words were, "I'm sorry."

The tower gave one final creak, before its weight proved too much and it hurtled towards the ground. It exploded into shards of metal, leaving crumpled corpses and twisted girders in its place.

"Shit. Shit!" screamed Merrick, and punched the wall in frustration. "Ghost, this is Phantom. Haunt is down! Haunt is down!"

"Copy that. Message delivered?"

"Message delivered. Train's-"

A whoosh cut Merrick off.

"It's a fucking jet!" screamed Spook. "Whisper, we anywhere near that fucking train yet?"

"One minute! Grab a stinger and shoot that bastard out of the sky!"

Spook complied; grabbing a stinger from Hesh, he leant out the side of the chopper and aimed.

"Come on... lock on..."

It beeped, before LOCK-ON was displayed in big neon letters. Pressing the trigger instantaneously, Spook cheered. He stopped once he noticed the jet launch its own missiles.

"Shit! It's locked on!"

The stinger reached its target first. It slammed into the jet's left wing, blowing of metal and exposing its infrastructure. It banked left for a few seconds, before gravity got the better of it and it began roaring down towards earth. A neighbourhood marked its likely landing spot, until it suddenly shifted right and aimed its crash site in an empty field. A small dot left the jet, and its parachute bloomed open as the jet crashed in an explosion of fire and dust.

"Bail out! Missiles coming straight for us!" screamed Merrick, as he slipped into his parachute and launched himself downwards.

"Hang on, the pilot's still down there!" said Spook as he grasped his rifle and let off several shots. All missed.

"Come on. Spook, we've gotta go!" shouted Logan as David and Whisper made their escape.

"Just a...sec!" he cried as his bullet went straight into the pilot's leg. He turned in celebration- to see the chopper totally abandoned.

He looked left, to see the empty cockpit and a missile heading straight for him.

He didn't even manage to finish saying, "Oh shit!"

The helicopter exploded into a fireball, missing Logan by seconds. The four remaining chutes popped open as the train- a goods train from Austin to San Diego- passed below.

Merrick's landing was the best of all of them. He slammed straight onto a shipping container and wrapped his arms around the ladder, as he ripped of his parachute and let it float away. He slinked onto a flatbed, safe from the wind rushing in his face, to see David clutching his arm.

"Fucking banged it, Phantom. Might have broken it."

"Where're Shadow and Whisper?"

Logan swore for the forty-second time that day. His parachute had wrapped around a tree, just above the train. He glanced behind him: he had ten seconds to get out of this or he'd be left behind.

He ripped his knife through the first strap, and awkwardly held it in his left hand to slice through the second. He frayed it, and finally tore through it.

He landed with all his weight on his left leg, and he cried out in pain with his injury. He pushed himself up, and looked around. Merrick and Dave were probably a hundred meters or so in front of him; Whisper was-

"Help! Oh fucking hell help me Logan!"

Logan looked up suddenly; Whisper was parachuting down maybe ten meters ahead of him, much slower than the train that was rapidly escaping from him.

"Pull down! Crash on the train!" he called. Whisper landed in a lump slightly ahead of Logan on the gravel surrounding the tracks.

Logan reached out, but Whisper was always going to be too slow.

His parachute wasn't. Logan gripped it, his fingers clamping through its thin material.

Whisper felt the force of a million bulls pulling at him while the gravel and muck tore through his tendons and muscles in his leg.

"FUCK FUCK FUCKING HELL!" he screamed, before his shouts were reduced to deluded ramblings.

Logan pulled his parachute onto the train, and heaved Whisper onboard.

"You okay?"

"My legs.. ahh... I got a really bad friction burn on my legs..." Whisper got out between panicked gasps for air.

Logan turned him over to see his skin flayed away, leaving dirty stretches of red in place of his calves. It wasn't very deep, at least. He cleaned the wound, throughout Whisper's cries.

"Phantom, this is Shadow. Whisper's injured-got really bad friction burns. The train was fucking dragging him along, man. Doesn't look fatal, though. Chance of infection. If we give him some anti-biotics, he'll pull through. Who's with you?"

"Just Spectre. No sign of Spook?"

"Afraid not."

"Damn it... Ghost, this is Phantom. Whisper's W.I.A., and Spook is M.I.A. Probably went down with the chopper."

"Alright, Phantom. They won't have died for nothing. Get back to base. We're planning something big..."

Logan and Whisper crawled up against the side of the flatbed, and both of them fell asleep almost immediately.


	3. The Lone and Level Sands

The news in Gabriel "Shade" Rorke's villa was subtitled in English as he ate his cheerios. So far, the news had reported protests in Santiago over the recent election results giving President Ramos his fifth term in a row, protests in Lima over the result of the independence referendum, and protests in Rio De Janiro over the continued occupation of Central America and the USA.

"The terrorist group known only as the Ghosts have launched another devastating attack that left sixteen people dead, six of them civilians. Six men are believed to have been involved in the attack; two were found dead at the scene. Pilot Melissa Cruz was able to destroy their escape vehicle, however was hospitalized from enemy fire when her jet was destroy-"

Rorke switched to Top Gear.

The Ghost Graveyard was a quiet place. Out in the desert, three crosses stood, each adjourned with dog tags, a helmet, and a name. A small passage was inscribed on each one. The lone and level sands stretched far away. The wind whistled lightly. All of them knew that, one day, there would be sixteen graves standing beside each other. None of them knew which day.

The crosses read:

Frederick Kevin Gallagher The Banshee of ingenuity, he was the decisive genius of the Ghosts

Robert Woodrow Wilson The Revenant of death, he was the merciless wrath of the Ghosts.

Michael James Garrett. The Apparition of steady aim, he was the vigilant eyes of the Ghosts.

Two more crosses joined them two years after the first had been planted.

Louis George King The haunt of defiance, he was the noble defender of the Ghosts.

Henry Oscar Carson The spook of vigilance, he was the overseeing watcher of the Ghosts.

 **To Kill for your Country**

25th June 2027, 13:09

Walker family residence, San Diego, Occupied California

"How's Riddian holding up?"

"He'll live; though he won't be joining us for a while."

Elias "Ghost" Walker smiled at his son.

"I'm proud of you, Logan. And you, David. You've done the nation proud."

"Thanks, dad," said David.

It was a sunny day. The three of them sat on the couch, watching the news report of their attacks. Merrick and Keegan "Wraith" Russ sat with them.

"So, are Alex and Chris coming round?" asked Keegan, opening a can of beer.

"Yeah, with James and Ben. God. I'm missing Henry and Louie already," mused Merrick.

"You couldn't have saved them. Anyway-"

There was a knock on the door.

"That'll be them."

The nine men gathered in Elias's basement. Weapons and explosives covered the walls, all donated by an anonymous donor who was certainly not the US government.

"Okay, I've just got some great news, boys. The USA have just finishing developing ODIN."

"ODIN?" asked Benjamin "Spirit" Hunter.

"Orbital Defence Initiative. A kinetic orbital system that, while not directly violating any Treaties, will allow us to bomb SAMA to bits. We can take back our land; and theirs, if we can."

"Wait, really? Are we gonna take their land?"

"For the good of the people. For the good of us all."

"Anyway, how long until this think is launched?" asked David.

"A week. Until then, however, I've got one last plan..."

After he heard the plan, Logan went to his room and began to cry.

There was something about Baldy's face that had engraved itself into Logan's mind. He knew he shouldn't be calling him that; he knew full well his name was Carlos Garcia. It had been all over the news.

No, no, he had to do it. He had to kill him, he was working with the enemy and he would have done the same to Logan. Dad told you that. Dad told you that we do bad things to bad people. Bad people deserve bad things done to them.

"And where do bad people come from, Logan? Come on, you've nearly figured it out," said a voice in his head he was sure wasn't his.

"By doing bad things," he said aloud.

He began to wail harder. He couldn't do this. What had Merrick said the other day? "Peace is a lie. War is always inevitable. I say, once we drive off these bastards, we wipe 'em out. Like a leach on the world. Always trying to get in bed with America so it can give us AIDS. They'll always keep rising up. Not a decent one among them. We'll be doing the world a favour."

"Son? Son, you alright in there?"

Logan sniffled, and said, "Uh, yeah, dad, I'm fine."

Elias entered a put an arm around him.

"What's the matter?"

"I just...I don't know if I could kill anyone else..."

Elias stared at Logan for a second, before standing up.

"No, Logan!" he boomed, "We are NOT going through this again! They are your enemy! They have to die because they deserve it!"

"Why?"

"War is inevitable, Logan!"

"It's only inevitable because of BASTARDS LIKE YOU!"

There was a beat of silence, as they stared at each other.

Then Elias backhanded Logan across the face.

"Don't. You. DARE! Talk to your father like that!"

Logan put a hand to his bruised cheek.

"S-sorry, dad."

"Now, go run to the woods. You're sleeping there tonight; maybe that'll give you time to think about your disobedience."

"Yes dad."

The woods were cold, damp, and dangerous; but Logan still preferred it to staying with Elias.


	4. Bad Things to Bad People

27th June 2027

Santa Monica Airport, Occupied California

The car hurtled along the road, leaving a trail of massacred security checkpoints in its wake. Spirit drove, while Elias rode shotgun- quite literally, he had used it to kill five SAMA troops already. James "Dash" Mettle was squished in-between Merrick and Keegan.

The second car contained Alex "Trace" Johnson at the driver's seat, with Chris "Hint" Greene in the passenger seat. Logan and David rode in the back.

"Here we go!" screamed Elias, as the car smashed through the gates of Santa Monica airport.

The runway stretched on for a mile ahead of them, and hangars and the Air Traffic Control tower littered the area.

Logan leaned out the window and fired an RPG, reducing a guard tower- and the guard- to scorched ash.

Dave did the same; he obliterated the control tower to nothing more than glass and scarred flesh.

"Good hit, Spectre," said Elias.

"Thanks, da-, uh, Ghost."

SAMA soldiers flooded out of the airport, and unleashed a hailstorm of bullets at the cars racing down the runway; Spirit had put enough distance between his car and the main buildings to be out of range of any serious risks.

Trace hadn't.

"Get down!" he screamed as the Ghosts ducked beneath the seats. Bullets whizzed past, missing their heads by centimetres. Glass shattered and small shards flew at them. He never took his foot off the accelerator.

A stray shot hit the car's tire. It exploded in a sudden bang that nearly gave Logan a heart attack; ironic considering the bullets smashing into the car around him.

Either way, the car swerved violently before its convulsions was too much for its balance to handle; it smashed into a lamppost, which embedded itself into the car's front and did not waver from its position.

"Fuck! Everybody out!" screamed Trace, and they complied.

"We've done enough damage here today! Take 'em months to fix it!" said Hint. "I say we get the hell out of here!"

"Negative, Hint. Still a few jets left; blow them up before you go. Leave one to escape in," said Elias.

"Ghost, there's no way we can-"

"That's an order, Spectre."

"Okay, Ghost."

Spectre aimed his grenade launcher and reduced the nearest jet to glass and debris.

"Shit!" screamed Trace. "Helicopter!"

Bullets riddled their position, and they all dove for cover; Hint behind the remains of the jeep, Trace behind a stack of barrels, David behind a small shack with Logan.

Rorke's helicopter had "Ride of the Valkyries" playing full blast as it descended over the airport.

"Yeah!" he screamed. "Alvarez! Blanco! You're with me!"

He rappelled down the rope and landed on the hot tarmac, Alvarez and Blanco flanking him.

"Okay, reinforcements are here! Get the hell out!" screamed Elias.

Spirit jammed his foot on the breaks, and the car skidded to a halt next to a AC-130

The four Ghosts ran inside; Spirit and Elias taking the controls, and Merrick and Keegan flipping open the rear door. As Spirit moved onto the runway, sparks emitted from the door scraping along the ground.

"Hint, Trace, Shadow, Spectre! Get on our plane now!" shouted Elias.

Logan looked at Elias's plane; it was several hundred meters down the runway.

"Uh, Ghost, we have a small passage jet, permission to commandeer that?" asked Trace.

"Negative, Trace. Get on ours."

"Ghost, we're never gonna make it-"

"Just do it!"

Trace shrugged, and the four of them bolted.

Rorke ran down the runway, his two goons struggling to keep up.

"Rorke, this is Olivares. Got a good shot on the runners, can take 'em down-"

"Negative, Olivares. I've got this."

Trace was lagging behind; Rorke launched himself forward and rugby tackled him to the ground.

Smacking his head against the concrete, Trace cried out. Rorke silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

"Alvarez, zip tie the bastard."

Hint glanced behind him as he sped across the runway, to see Trace subdued. Firing off a few potshots that were never going to hit, he shouted, "Guys! They've got Trace!"

He had just finished saying it when he shuddered violently and a fountain of blood erupted from his stomach. He stumbled a few more feet before crashing into the ground.

"Hint!" screamed David, as he finally clambered into the AC-130.

Logan was maybe twenty feet away from the jet when a second bullet whacked into his leg.

"LOGAN!" screamed Dave, and attempted to run out. His father grabbed him.

"It's too late, Spectre. It's too late."

Logan felt the searing pain soar through his body, and collapsed.


	5. Kill a Man, you are a Murderer

Rorke's Ghost Hunter team assembled amid their prisoners.

Olivares, Blanco, Guzman and Munoz stood next to Trace; his face was bloody and bruised, but he was still alive.

Mendoza, Benitez, Alvarez and Torres stood next to the dead body of Hint; he had bled out, despite Alvarez's best efforts.

Vargas, Gil, and Rorke stood next to Logan, a bandage over his leg.

"So, looks like Elias has left one of his of his men to die to save his own ass," said Rorke. "No shock there."

"Fuck you, you miserable piece of shit," spat Logan.

"Now, as a matter of fact, kiddie, I do believe I know you. Logan. Logan Martin Walker, son of Elias." Rorke chuckled. "Bastard left his own son to die. Wow. Even I didn't think he'd do that."

"Rorke? Didn't think we'd meet again," said Trace, trying to sound calm. He failed.

"Remember me, do ya? You didn't remember me in Colombia."

"Rorke? You're that fucking traitor we see on the news all the time," said Logan.

"I was the one who was betrayed, kid. It's a long story..."

"We were hitting a base, kid, just next to the Caquetá River. We were gonna use that to our advantage, the seven of us. The Ghosts had been formed three months prior, and "officially" we weren't part of the US army. Trace, Ghost, Banshee, Apparition, Wraith, Revenant, Phantom... and me. Shade, that was my call sign. We managed to blow up the base fairly quickly. We did lose Banshee, though. Fucking waste; he stood too close to the blast and a piece of shrapnel took his head off. So, we got onto the escape boat; I was with Apparition, Ghost and Revenant in one, Phantom, Wraith, and this little bastard here in the other. Hey, Trace, why don't ya tell him what happened next?"

Trace remained silent, so Rorke nodded and Olivares smashed him on the back of the skull with his rifle.

"Okay, okay! A helicopter began chasing us, and then this prick wearing a suicide vest jumped on. Shade managed to put a bullet in his head, but it must've been on a timer or something... started beeping... Apparition got a stinger, shot down the chopper.

"Fucking stray piece of shrapnel went straight through his leg and it fucking pinned him. Revenant was trying to heave the explosives off the boat...Shade was freeing Apparition..."

"And what did Ghost do, Trace?"

"I'm sorry, Logan... he ran. He jumped onto our boat... and we left."

"Revenant was killed instantly," picked up Rorke, "And I managed to drag Apparition to the riverbank. He was crying, blood pouring out of his mouth, scars and cuts all over his face... He looked up at me, like he was about to say something, and went limp. Michael Garret was my friend. And your father killed him. They found me wondering aimlessly, traumatized... I described a force so powerful, so lacking in any empathy, they could only be described as... inhuman. Supernatural. Mere Ghosts of human beings...

"And your father wore than statement like a medal. He enjoyed killing us. And I realized it then; the US started this war. They had burnt and maimed their way through Central America. They were run by Dickens; a man who had mysteriously been elected for his 4th term in a row."

"Oh, and Ramos running South America as a puppet state? The fact his "Emergency powers" are still in place, preventing any votes at all?" shouted Trace. A punch from Mendoza shut him up.

"Alvarez, Benitez, load these shits into the chopper and take 'em to Caracas."

The AC-130 rumbled through the sky, Spirit having filled the jets already with bullets and rockets.

"Okay, what do we do now?" asked Wraith. "We leaving those three behind or going back for 'em?"

"We go back," said Elias. "Dash, Wraith, Phantom, get ready. Spirit, turn us around."

Alvarez lifted Logan up by the arm, and was about to shout at him to stand the fuck up, but Benitez screamed.

"What the fucking hell? It's the Ghosts!"

The nine SAMA troops, Rorke included, dived for cover as bullets riddled their position, creating an outline beside Logan and Trace.

The AC-130 skidded to a halt, and Wraith and Merrick jumped out, launching suppressive fire at Rorke's squad.

Wraith slid forward, and picked Logan up in a fireman's carry, swiftly loading him onto the plane. Merrick heaved Trace to his feet, and they both ran. Spirit continued to rank the surrounding area with bullets, but Rorke wasn't intimidated.

As Trace ran, his hands still secured, a bullet smashed into his back. He screamed, and fell limp onto the floor. Wraith returned his own suppressive fire, and Rorke ducked once more. Merrick dragged him along, shoved him into the plane, and shouted, "GO! GO! GO! Spirit, get us the hell out of here!"

Trace collapsed onto the floor. Blood spurted from his mouth.

"Ah...Merrick...they got Hint..."

"Shh. Alex, it's okay. You're going to be fine. Dash, get the fucking medkit!"

Alex Johnson closed his eyes and never opened them again.

"No! Don't you dare give up on me!" Merrick screamed, as he shook Trace's lifeless body.

The plane descended into silence.

Two more crosses were added to the Graveyard of Ghosts.

Alexander Vincent Johnson The Trace of Bravery, he was the fearless guardian of the Ghosts

Christopher Kenneth Greene The Hint of Valour, he was the unwavering sentinel of the Ghosts


	6. Choices

28th June 2027

"Good news, boys!" said Elias the next day. "The US army has donated ten troops to our cause."

"That's great!" said David, standing up from the couch.

They arrived in their civvies later that day, just as the sun began to set. Captain Hedin lead them, with Lieutenant Corby as his deputy. Corporals Jast, Volker, Dickinson, Perceval and Underton backed up Sergeant Kevers, and Privates Stuart and Parsons completed the number.

"You've done good work here, Ghost," said Hedin, a dark-skinned giant of a man. He extended a hand for him to shake. "I look forward to working with you."

29th June 2027

Elias gathered the remaining Ghosts and the soldiers in the basement.

"Boys. Men. We have been betrayed.

"President Dickens has recently said he will not be firing ODIN without provocation. He will use it as a bargaining chip. He's giving in to these sickening savages.

"However, hope is at hand. I have the launch codes, thanks to Dickins' trust in me, and we can finally use this opportunity to put this right. Launch ODIN, and wipe the bastards out. We will have to kill the US troops surrounding the facility, yes, but those ten or so deaths will be worth it if we can secure this victory."

"What?" said Corby. "I'm not fighting my own country!"

"Corby, this is our final fight. We can end the war here and now- if you obey."

Corby stood up, and said, "No."

"These bastards have been fighting us for years; they'll never stop until every last man, woman and child is ash. Even before that, they were a social parasite on our society, dragging us down and making us the minorities in our own nation! Never again!"

Corby did not falter. "What? Nobody else has a problem with this bullshit? He's a racist piece of shit!"

Logan's head span with quivering panic. His dad would be disappointed in him... but what he was saying, he couldn't go along with that.

But they are parasites, aren't they? Taking their jobs, making sure Logan didn't get a job until he was 22...

Logan knew what he had to do.

"I do!" he screamed, and stepped forward.

Elias looked at his son with equal amounts disappointment and surprise.

"Jast, Perceval, please apprehend Shadow," he said calmly.

"No fucking way, man," said Jast. Perceval nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, fuck you, Elias," said Hedin. "This is some fucked up shit you're doing."

"I see. Dash, Spirit, lock 'em up."

Dash began to move, if reluctantly, but it was Spirit who made the move.

"No. No, I'm not. You racist prick."

Dash stopped after he said it, and walked back.

"Keegan, Merrick, if you would."

As both men carried assault rifles, it was impossible for the six of them to do anything. Hedin made a run for it; he got a rifle butt to the face for his troubles. He joined Jast, Perceval, Corby, Dash, Logan and Spirit on the floor.

"Kevers, Dickinson, stay here and put a bullet in them if they try to move. Actually, kill Hedin anyway."

"Kevers. Kevers, don't-"

Hedin never finished. His brain was splattered all over the couch, courtesy of Dickinson's pistol.

"Oh shit. Oh fucking shit!" screamed Jast.

Merrick, Wraith, Elias, Parsons, Kevers, Volker, Stuart, and Underton headed for the door. David glanced at his brother one final time, mouthed, "I'm sorry," and followed in his father's footsteps,

"Good news, you goons!" said Rorke, poking his head into the barracks.

"What?" asked Mendoza, as she pushed herself up.

"Turns out the US are building this orbital fucking missile weapon, and they're gonna bomb us into oblivion."

"Being carpet bombed to ash doesn't exactly sound like good news to me," said Vargas.

"Nah, but we know where its launch centre is. And we're gonna take it."

Elias had been gone for ten minutes. The bursts of gunfire had told them that the nearby guard outpost had been massacred. Abruptly, Kevers knelt down and began untying Corby's restraints.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Dickinson.

"What does it look like?" he said, as Corby was finally freed. "That guy was fucking mental."

Dickinson aimed his weapons. "You better back the fuck away, Kevers. I'm not disobeying-"

Kevers was quick. He drew his sidearm and put two bullets straight into Dickinson's head. It jerked backwards and his feet fell out from under him.

"Jesus Christ, man," muttered Dash.

As Corby and Kevers began untying the survivors, they began to discuss tactics.

"Okay, Elias is taking the helicopter we left about a mile away. He doesn't know we left two. Other's hidden, we can take that. Damn convenient, and I thought Hedin was being paranoid-" Corby stopped when he saw Kevers' eyes rest on Hedin's body.

"So we gonna put a bullet in this bastard's head or what?" asked Jast, and Logan shuddered.

Perceval pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and looked Logan in the eye. "We'll take him alive, if we can. You're doing the right thing. We're not murderers, Logan."

"Are we fucking going, or what?" asked Jast.


	7. Kill a Million Men, you are a Conquerer

The helicopter touched down half an hour after it left.

Rorke jumped down, Alvarez and Gil flanking him.

"Looks like somebody's been here before us..." mused Rorke, as he inspected the massacred guards surrounding the dull concrete rectangle that composed the launch facility; most of it was under ground. The vast expanse of desert stretched far into the distance.

A guard leaving a trail of blood behind him edged himself along the ground. Rorke grasped him by his collar, and hefted him up.

"You better start talking, son. The hell happened here?"

"Ghosts. Betrayed us. We got, like, two of 'em, but they fucking decimated us."

"Ghosts, eh?" said Rorke, nonchalantly placing a bullet into his cranium. "Let's take this place and bomb America to bits."

Vargas stopped. "What? We're gonna kill them?"

"Yeah, we're gonna kill 'em. Wipe the bastards down to nothing," said Rorke, and only after he said it did he realize the true connotations of Vargas's words. "You got a problem with that?"

"Yeah, actually, I do."

Rorke strode forward and jammed his pistol into his chin.

"Listen to me, Vargas. We're gonna wipe these bastards out, once and for all. You got a problem with that?"

"Hey, hey, hey, stop!" shouted Alvarez, Mendoza echoing his cries.

Gil, Ruzmen, Olivares, Blanco and Munoz raised their weapons. "Get away from him!" screamed Munoz.

Alvarez, Benitez, Mendoza and Torres raised their own weapons. "You fucking Nazis!" shouted Mendoza as she knelt beneath a concrete barrier.

Rorke said, "Look, y'all are gonna want to put those down or Vargas here will be lacking his brainpan."

Vargas kneed Rorke in the balls, Rorke fired, and everything went to hell.

Rorke was quick, much quicker than Alvarez thought possible. Before Vargas's lifeless body hit the sand, he sprinted for the facility's main entrance; he grabbed Munoz and Gil as he did so, and three of them were gone.

More bullets whizzed as Torres stuck his head out of cover and jammed the trigger down on his LMG; he nicked Olivares in the stomach and he convulsed backwards, clutching his belly. A second shot tore off Guzman's arm before a stray bullet from Blanco hit him directly in the heart. He was killed instantly, but his hand still rested on the trigger, and let of several stray bullets before he finally keeled over and his head collapsed into the sand.

Guzman was dead and Olivares was screaming and Blanco was more scared than he had ever been in his entire life.

"Please don't fucking shoot! John! Emma! Stop!" he screamed. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Hands in the air!" demanded Alvarez. Still sniffling, Blanco rose, his gun leaving a crater in the sand.

Olivares' screams was replaced with whimpering as Benitez ran to him. It was silent by the time he took out his medkit.

Alvarez grabbed Blanco by the collar and threw him to Torres's corpse.

"You caused that, you little shit!"

"Leave him alone, John!" screamed Mendoza. "Leave him alone."

Benitez shouted, "Shouldn't we be going after Rorke? He's gonna fucking bomb us!"

The whirring of a helicopter caused them all to look up.


	8. But the Passing of Greed

Logan, Dash, and Spirit all vaulted off the helicopter and aimed their MP-7's squarely at Alvarez's face.

Alvarez never fired. He would have, but his LMG rested in the sand.

Blanco never fired. His gun lay next to Alvarez's.

Benitez never fired. He was placing Torres's body among the others.

Mendoza never fired. There was something in Dash's eyes, stark against his dark skin.

Corby, Jast, Perceval and Kevers never fired. The helicopter was weaponless, and none of them had a decent angle. 

Dash never fired. The tears rolling down Blanco's face changed his mind.

Spirit never fired. There was something about Alvarez that reminded him of Stephen Brickman.

Logan never fired.

His gun jammed.

They stared at each other for what might have been a lifetime, before Mendoza said, "Shit, it's the Ghost kid!"

Benitez threw his hands in the air. "Listen, Logan, Logan! Rorke's gone mental, he's gonna blow up North America with the death satellite! Please, you gotta-"

Logan's face opened in shock, and said, "Okay, Elias has gone mental and he's gonna blow up South America with the death satellite. Truce?"

Benitez shrugged and shook his hand.

"Again with the sitting and talking!" shouted Jast. "World's gonna end in, like, five minutes! Run!"

They ran for the steps of the facility.

Elias, Wraith, Merrick and David loaded into the lift, one of three leading to the underground facility. "Underton, Volker, stay here and guard the place. Nobody else comes down here, understand?"

Both men nodded, and just as Parsons stepped into the lift his blood sprayed onto the buttons. He stumbled forwards one more step before collapsing, twitching spastically. Rorke stood at the end of the corridor, a LMG in his hands.

"Shit!" screamed Elias, slamming his closed fist onto the button that swiftly sent them to the lowest level.

Rorke slid into an intersecting corridor as Munoz was cut down by Volker's line of bullets. Gil tried desperately to follow Rorke, his wild and inaccurate bursts hitting Underton in the chest, sending him flying against the already closed lift.

He scrambled to Rorke, him pulling Gil behind the corridor.

"Watch and learn, kid," he said, stepping out of cover and casually riddling Volker with bullets. He twitched spastically and shuddered under the impact, before falling limp.

Logan, Dash and Spirit speeded up the steps to the facility, the hastily formed coalition of soldiers following behind. Jast broke ahead of all of them, reaching the top just before Logan; his neck exploded in a splash of blood. He remained motionless for one final instant, before collapsing down the stairs, crimson trailing down with him.

"Shit! Jast!" screamed Perceval, kneeling beside him and jamming his hand on his neck. Logan didn't look back; he flooded the corridor with suppressive fire, and he saw Rorke and one of his goons run for the lift, dragging a heavily bleeding comrade with them.

The injured one- Munoz, Alvarez identified him as- rested in a heap in the corner. Rorke's last ditch attempt at buying time.

He did not duck the oncoming fire. Not only did he have nothing to fear, he had nowhere to move to. Alvarez released a burst of gunfire, and Munoz slumped downwards.

Dash reached the lift first, maybe a few seconds before Alvarez and Kevers did. Spirit, Corby, Benitez, Mendoza and Logan crowded in, and Kevers mashed the button with his massive fist.

The lift stopped in a corridor that stretched for half a mile before reaching the final control room. It was planned for guards to be posted all along the hallway; Elias pulled a few strings and made sure his killing of American soldiers were kept to a minimum beforehand.

"Wraith, Stuart, stay here and make sure nobody makes it through."

Both men nodded; Wraith without a trace of emotion, Stuart shaking nervously. Elias, David and Merrick disappeared into the distance.

Stuart had his gun trained on the second lift, Wraith on the third.

The second opened suddenly, and it revealed Gil hanging desperately from the light fitting.

"Oh, shit, Rorke, pull me u-"

Wraith fired while Stuart hesitated, and Gil fell onto the lift in a screaming lump. Wraith grabbed a grenade from his belt and was about to throw it at Gil when Logan's lift arrived.


	9. Kill Everyone, you are a God

The grenade landed at Logan's feet, at the exact centre of the crowded lift. It was followed by another from Stuart a nanosecond later.

"Get out!" screamed Logan, kicking the grenade. It did nothing except bounce of Alvarez's heel and straight back into the lift.

Alvarez, Mendoza, Benitez and Corby were at the front of the lift. Wraith let off a burst of bullets as they scrambled forwards; it ripped through Alvarez and the force pushed him backwards, onto Logan. A bullet nicked Mendoza, as Corby and Benitez sprinted forward unscathed. Logan grabbed Alvarez and ran; blood already poured down his shirt and from his mouth. Spirit gripped Mendoza's hands and pulled her out of the soon to be annihilated lift.

And then, a millisecond before it exploded, Logan did something that he would never forgive himself for.

He turned, and exposed the heavily bleeding Alvarez to the blast. As if he was a shield.

As if he was disposable.

The blast did its damage. Thomas Kevers was the closest; the shrapnel tore through him and left him a decapitated hunk of bloody torso. Part of Logan would always be haunted at how one minute he was making jokes about Corby's hygiene and the next he was... gone.

A stray shard of metal hit Corby in the left eye, and tore it open, leaving it a loosely connected mess of jelly and nerves.

Benitez was hit in the leg, as was Spirit; both collapsed screeching. Mendoza's foot was reduced to tendons and tissue.

Jonathan Alvarez's face was obliterated, showering Logan with blood and brain and skull.

Dash, who, other than Logan, was the last man standing, stepped out and drilled three rounds into Stuart's face.

Before his body had even hit the floor he and Wraith tackled each other, their guns clattering along the floor. Wraith got the upper hand; he knelt on Dash's chest and let off an unforgiving flurry of brutal punches to his face.

Logan slowly released his grip on Alvarez, allowing the body to slump onto the floor, amid the screaming forms of Mendoza, Spirit, Corby and Benitez.

He raised his gun at Wraith, only find that a piece of shrapnel had reduced his gun to an eloquent paperweight.

His hands darted for his sidearm, but Wraith noticed and tackled him to the ground. Dash was coughing and trying to recover his footing as Wraith broke Logan's nose with an intense smash.

Logan grabbed Wraith by the nape of his neck and slammed it downwards; their foreheads collided with a spark of pain. Using the opportunity well, Logan flipped Wraith backwards and off him. He righted himself quickly, grabbed him by his collar, and threw him full force into the lift, impacting hard against the metal.

Before Wraith could do anything, Logan pressed a button at random and chucked a grenade into the lift.

The doors closed, and Wraith was trapped.

He thought about screaming. No, he decided. No point. At least-

His mind raced for an "At least", something, something that would make his death mean something-anything.

He settled with the fact that Logan was most likely going to kill Elias.

And Keegan Peter Russ was nothing.

Logan helped Dash up, and they glanced at six equally ravaged bodies; four of them were still screaming. Logan was just about to offer Spirit his hand when a sudden grinding noise started.

A door slowly began to close at the middle of the corridor. Slowly, the metal sheeting descended.

Dash and Logan left the four of them screaming, and legged it to the door.

"You'd think a multi-billion pound facility would have quicker closing doors!" remarked Dash, before adding, "Not that I'm complaining!"

The door had only reached halfway when Logan and Dash crouched under it.

They were about to continue when Merrick stepped out from nowhere and shot Dash straight in the chest.

Both men turned to Merrick; Dash seemed to regard it more surprising than being shot.

He looked at Merrick, then at Logan, then collapsed.

Logan smashed the butt of his gun into Merrick's face, knocking his head directly beneath the door. Quickly seizing the opportunity, he pinned Merrick's hands to his back, and knelt on him.

Merrick thrashed, Merrick panicked, and Merrick screamed.

"Logan, please, please, please,"

Logan didn't move. He glanced briefly at Dash, gasping desperately for his last gulps of air. Being careful not to allow Merrick up, he pulled Dash over to him.

"Shit, shit, you alright?"

Dash smiled weakly, and finally managed to get out a, "Go fucking save the day."

And then he relaxed, his eyes vacantly staring at Logan; He closed them. Merrick's screaming finally subsided as his skull fractured with a sickening crunch. Logan stood up, and went to commit patricide.

Elias Adam Walker loaded in the firing vectors for Rio de Janiro, Brasilia, Caracas, Buenos Aries, La Paz...

"Dad, stop. It's over."

Elias sighed.

"No, Logan. No, it isn't. Not until every last one of these filthy tribe savages is three feet underground. They're inferior, Logan. They keep leaching on our society like a parasite, taking our hard earned cash, subjecting us to their disgusting rituals."

"Listen to yourself, dad!"

"I'm not angry, son. I'm disappointed."

"Sorry to interrupt the family reunion, fellas."

Logan and Elias both turned, to see Rorke levelling his .44 magnum at them. Both men drew their own handguns, and backed off, forming a triangle.

"Well, looks like what we have here is a Mexican standoff. Well, if Elias had his way, a Filthy Sickening Subhuman standoff. Anyway, if I'm gonna die-"

Rorke reached into his pocket and tapped around on his phone. Ennio Morricone's Ecstasy of Gold blared out from its speakers.

"Might as well listen to some badass music."


	10. Angels, Heroes, and Sons of

They all had their guns trained on someone else; Rorke on Logan, Logan on Elias, Elias on Rorke.

"So, how many ghosts left now?" asked Rorke jovially.

"Russ is dead. Blew the bastard to bits," said Logan, not taking his eye off Rorke. "Merrick killed Mettle, so I crushed the bastard's skull under the door."

"Wait, where's David?"

Rorke had just finished saying it when a figure dropped from behind him and raised his knife.

Everything in the next five seconds passed like hours to Logan:

Rorke spun, grabbed David by the neck, pressed his gun to David's gut, and fired. Before he could even release Dave, Elias shot Rorke just below the shoulder blade. He screamed as he convoluted forward.

Logan and Elias took an eternity to spin and a second to fire.

The two shots rang out and even Perceval could hear them.

For a second, Logan thought nothing had happened- until the large growing patch of red on his father's side became apparent, and Elias slinked to the ground. Logan would never be able to decipher meaning into the old man's face, but disappointment was the closest he ever got.

Rorke tried to limp towards Logan, but his injuries outmatched him and he collapsed.

David remained standing, clutching his would as blood seeped out between his fingers.

He looked at Logan one last time, and said, "Forgive me."

That was all he had left to do. His legs collapsed from under him and he finally relaxed.

Logan spent a final second looking at the bodies of his father and brother, before turning to the control panel.

"Okay, okay," he muttered to himself, quickly slamming the "Cancel Launch" button. He then pushed the reactors to 500%, opened the emergency shelter doors, and flicked a switch marked "EXPOSE CORE SELF DESTRUCT"

A large lever exposed itself from a hatch. Securing it with both hands, Logan gazed back at his father, still rolling around in a pool of his own blood.

"Logan. LOGAN! Please, please, you know I'm right. You know they're worse than us!"

"They're better than you," was all he said, before he slammed the level down with a satisfying clunk.

Alarms sounded. Sirens flashed. A nearby control panel exploded in a shower of sparks and flames. Logan shielded his face from the blast, and then calmly began to walk to the exit.

Elias began screaming. "LOGAAAN!" His hand darted for his handgun.

Rorke knocked his back to the floor and punched Elias in the face, bloodying his nose.

"Come on, Elias. The kid deserves to walk away at this point. He's earned it. As for us? We're gonna die here together, Elias. Just you and me."

Elias let out one final scream of anguish as flames engulfed the control room.


	11. Defined

Perceval sat on the steps to the launch facility, his head in his hands. The dead body of Jast lay in a row, alongside Torres, Guzman, Vargas, Volker, Underton, Munoz, Olivarez and the ten guards of the facility. Blanco sat, his hands restrained.

Blanco tried to speak several times before he actually did.

"Sorry." He said it so quietly.

"Hmm?"

"I… I'm sorry. I didn't want to…"

He broke down into tears.

Perceval didn't say anything until a sudden noise made him look up.

"Hey, you hear something?"

The helicopter with the SAMA logo emblazoned on it began descending, kicking up dirt and sand. Three figured clad in black jumped off.

One of them screamed in Spanish at him, and Perceval threw his gun into the air. He did not relent and jammed the gun right into Perceval's terrified face.

"Don't!" screamed Blanco, and they all turned to him as he began the long tale of what lead to two men and ten corpses standing in the desert.

Benitez and Spirit were desperately applying poor medical aid to Mendoza and Corby. Mendoza was wincing constantly, but that was nothing compared to Corby screaming in his perpetual night.

"Jesus, I can't see. I can't fucking see anything oh fucking Jesus help me."

"You'll be fine, Corby. Just keep calm," said Spirit, wishing he could follow his own advice.

Logan stepped through the corridor.

"Logan? You stopped the launch?"

"Yeah. David, Rorke, Elias, Merrick… they're dead. And this place is gonna blow in, like, five minutes."

"Dash?"

"Merrick got him. Now let's go!"

Logan helped Mendoza to her feet; Benitez, Corby and Spirit limped into the lift supporting each other. Spirit slammed the button, and they left the resting place of eight dead men.

The lift opened after what felt like a lifetime. Surely five minutes had passed by now? Logan tried not to think about it. After all, he wasn't going to go through all this-

Killed Alvarez. Killed David. Killed dad. Bombed a fucking radio station. Terrorist. Murderer.

Only to die because of a slow lift.

They flooded out into the corridor, to see a collection of soldiers standing in front of them, Blanco and Perceval among them.

"Place is gonna blow!" screamed Logan. "Fucking run!"

Blanco repeated his warning in Spanish, and everyone bolted for the exit.

They quickly crowded themselves into the helicopter, and one of the SAMA troops began shouting something at the pilot. They took to the skies just in time to get the best view of two men be obliterated into ash.

There was a loud crack, and the building collapsed into the ground. A plume of dust erupted high into the sky, the sun barely visible through its haze.

Logan turned to Spirit.

"Now what?" Spirit asked.

"Now," said Logan, with a smile, "we have been defined."


	12. Ghosts

The helicopter landed next to the Ghost graveyard, kicking up dust and swirling it away. There were twenty five men, in all, that came to rescue them; Spirit, Logan, Mendoza, Corby, Perceval, Blanco and Benitez made thirty two.

As the sun began to set, Logan turned to the SAMA commander, Sanchez, and the American commander, Orrin.

"So, Communists on one side, fascists on the other," said Orrin, "what now?"

"Rather Communism than fascism." Spirit was still looking out over the horizon. "But Ramos is a corrupt shit. He's going down, no matter what."

"With just thirty two of us?" asked Sanchez.

"We've saved the world already," said Logan, "now to redeem it."

"We'll need a name," stated Benitez.

"Oh, I think I've got a good one…"

Logan didn't need to say it, because everybody already knew.

They left the Graveyard of Ghosts again.

Keegan Peter Russ. The Wraith of Courage, he was the brave knight of the Ghosts.

James Thomas Mettle. The Dash of velocity, he was the godspeed scout of the Ghosts.

Thomas Anthony Merrick. The Phantom of Strength, he was the unrelenting power of the Ghosts.

David Brandon Walker. The Spectre of Loyalty, he was the unwavering brother of the Ghosts.

Gabriel Tobias Rorke. The Shade of Determination, he was the unconquerable mountain of the Ghosts.

Elias Adam Walker. The Ghost of leadership, he was the true Ghost.

But now, a new plaque was there.

To stop the wrath of oppression: Freedom.

To defy the monster of ourselves: Mercy.

To halt the storm of revenge: Restraint.

To punish those who deserve it: Valour.

To decide who deserves it: Judgement.

To answer the Call of Duty: Ghosts.


End file.
